


Secrets and Masks

by Morgan (morgan32)



Series: Secrets [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-19
Updated: 2009-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to the episode <i>Chivalry</i>: Methos really wanted Kristin dead. But why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets and Masks

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from my slash story Secrets and Lies, but there is only one brief reference to slash in this fic and it can be read as a stand-alone.

The rented tuxedo was uncomfortably tight across his shoulders, but Methos couldn't remove it without exposing his sword. That would be a _very_ bad idea right at this moment. He could hear Gill moving around the kitchenette at the rear of the bookstore; she could be back any moment and he _had_ to keep his mask in place. So he settled for undoing his bow tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. A little more comfortable, he sat down in the green leather chair - Don's chair - adopting his usual slouch. The sword hilt dug into his shoulders but he ignored the pain.

Gill came back into the room, carrying a mug in her hands. "I found some cocoa," she said, offering him the mug.

Methos smiled weakly, playing the part she expected. He took the mug from her hands. "Thanks."

"Are you okay, Adam?" Gill asked gently. She slid into the other seat. Gill looked out of place in the bookstore; Methos had spent so many hours here with Don, but Gill was female and half Don's age, the Watcher tattoo on her wrist concealed by the perfectly pressed sleeve of a silk blouse...definitely incongruous with the haphazardly-stacked books and the battered shelving.

"I...I don't know," Methos answered. He sipped the cocoa. The questions would begin soon and he had no idea how he would answer them. His secret had never been in more danger...he trusted Joe to keep his identity to himself, but Gill was not his friend. Her loyalty would be to the Watchers.

***

_The last time he had been to a fashion show - back in the 1920s - these events had been about the clothing. This show wasn't about clothing, it was about sex. Methos enjoyed watching; a parade of sensuality that reminded him of a far older age._

_He remained at his table after the show, waiting for Eleni. She wanted to introduce him to Kristen, hoping to "prove" he was mistaken about her. Methos hadn't bothered to tell her there was no chance of that. Ten minutes passed, then twenty and Eleni still hadn't appeared. Methos began to feel the first stirrings of disquiet. No one tried to stop his as he made his way backstage. He was adept at blending in to any situation and no one was likely to question another tuxedo clad sophisticate who moved as if he knew exactly where he was going. A party was in full swing. Methos was alert, searching for Eleni with his eyes hoping to at least feel her nearby. There was no sign of her. _

_A growing sense of foreboding led Methos to the stage door. As he slipped into the alley behind the theatre he felt an immortal presence - no, more than one - and the sound of swordplay made him move faster. Not fast enough. _

_Blue-white lightening streaked across his vision as he rounded the corner. He could hardly fail to recognise Eleni's body. Grief pierced his heart; what a waste this was!_

***

"You've never seen that before," Gill said.

"No..." Methos shook his head, lying through his teeth. He had taken more heads than Gill had watched beheadings, he was sure. But he was supposed to be Adam Pierson, bookish grad student. So what had he been doing in that alley? Or even at the show? The best way to lie, is to tell the truth...just not all of it. He looked at Gill, putting a little panic into his voice. "I had no idea she was an immortal, Gill. How could I? Oh, God, and now she's dead..." His grief, at least, wasn't feigned.

***

_Eleni's head rolled toward him, her eyes, no longer beautiful, wide open. Tearing his gaze away from that too-familiar sight, he looked at the immortal who had killed her. Kristen. She didn't know he was there, not yet. A quickening could be a fatal distraction. Methos remembered..._

_...A cold morning, a body drawn from the Tiber...the body of a man who should have lived for centuries. Only one person could have done this..._

_Methos reached beneath his tuxedo for his sword._

_A hand touched his arm and he spun around, striking out by reflex. He pulled the punch short when he saw who had touched him._

_"What are you doing here, Pierson?"_

***

"You're a Watcher, Adam. How could you not know she's an immortal?"

"I'm a _Methos_ Watcher," he corrected her. "Gill, I read books and translate old chronicles, not new ones. Why would I have an interest in _any_ immortal less than three hundred years old?"

That might have been a bit too forceful. Methos sipped more cocoa to cover his expression. The grief he showed was real enough, but he couldn't afford Gill to see the rest of what he was feeling. Kristen. It had been nearly five hundred years and he still hated her.

***

_A warm night as Rome celebrated carnival...an immortal woman's hand reached to pull his mask away. Methos grasped her hand, wrenching her away from his mask. She gasped in pain and he felt bone crack beneath his fingers. He released her quickly, but did not apologise. She should have known better._

_Giovanni, his words slurred, admonished him for his lack of chivalry. She stood, meeting his eyes with a challenge in her look. She still expected an apology from him._

_Methos returned her look coldly. "I was born long before the age of Chivalry," he said, the words for her alone. Giovanni, too inebriated to take him seriously, laughed and they left in search of better entertainment. _

***

"How did you know Eleni Porter?" Gill asked him.

Methos closed his eyes, getting his story clear in his mind. Tell the truth...just not all of it. "We met when I was a student at Cambridge," he said carefully. "We were friends." And that much was true. Eleni was a young immortal who had just left her teacher and was trying to pick up the threads of the education that was interrupted by her first death. He had been at Cambridge as part of his creation of "Adam Pierson".

"Close friends?" Gill prompted.

He had been silent for too long. Methos shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. We slept together a couple of times, but it was casual. We were just kids." He couldn't look at Gill as he spoke; she might read the lies. He looked at the bookshelves beside him, revising his memories as he spoke. How would it have happened if he had been the kid he pretended to be? If Eleni were just another student at the same college?

"...then there was an accident...the newspapers said a drunk driver ran into their car...Eleni was the only survivor." Eyes wide, he stared at Gill. "Was that her first death? No, it couldn't be...I would have noticed _some_thing..."

"It wasn't her first," Gill answered.

He nodded. "She kept her arm in a sling for weeks after. Wow...that was just cover, wasn't it?" He said the words as if it was some great revelation. It was Methos who advised Eleni to feign the injury. You don't walk away from a three-car pile up with nothing to show for it. He frowned, remembering. "But she was never the same after that. She left before the end of the semester and I never saw her again." Methos finished his cold cocoa, hoping Gill was convinced.

Gill nodded, apparently satisfied. "What were you doing at the fashion show, if you haven't seen her since Cambridge? That was fourteen years ago."

Here, at least, he could tell the unedited truth. "I ran into her yesterday. I was shopping for groceries..."

***

_Laden down with a large bag of fresh food, Methos was on the way to his car. A sliver of ice down his spine alerted him to an immortal's presence and he quickened his pace, hoping whoever it was wasn't looking for a fight._

_"Adam!" A woman's voice called after him. "Adam Pierson?"_

_Methos turned warily. The voice was vaguely familiar but the woman... Belatedly recognising the immortal woman, he found his face breaking into a smile. "Oh, my god. Eleni?"_

_She ignored his attempt to shift the weight of the bag he carried and threw her arms around Methos and the bag both._

_"Whoa! Watch the eggs!" he laughed, extracting himself hurriedly. "Eleni!"_

_"It's been..."_

_"A few years." How long? Thirteen, maybe fifteen years. Not long as a five thousand year old man might measure time, but Eleni was very young._

_"You haven't changed at all, Adam," she declared, then laughed sunnily. "Well, I guess you wouldn't."_

_"You've changed," he said. Methos stepped back, taking in her appearance. When they met at Cambridge Eleni was a scruffy student, with dreadlocked hair and no colour but black in her wardrobe. More than a decade later, the transformation was incredible. Eleni wore a white trouser suit that looked like it was tailor-made for her. Designer, perhaps, though Methos didn't know enough about fashion to be sure. The dreadlocks were gone, her hair cut short and bleached blonde. She wore a light dusting of gold on her eyelids and cheeks that set off her ebony skin perfectly. "I approve," Methos told her appreciatively._

_She smiled widely, accepting the compliment. "What are you doing in Paris?" she asked. Without giving him a chance to respond she went on, "Adam, I want to hear everything. Why don't you invite me for dinner?"_

_"I was just on my way home..." he hedged._

_She looked pointedly at the bag in his hands. "We could have dinner at your place."_

_Methos' resistance crumbled. "I think I would enjoy that," he admitted. Eleni linked her arm in his and they began to walk._

***

"...She invited herself back to my place. We had dinner and talked about the old days. Just catching up. She offered me a ticket to the show...we were going to go out on the town, after." Methos shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He couldn't keep up the act for much longer. "Gill...can we continue this in the morning? I...I really need some time alone."

"Of course. Are you sure you'll be okay, Adam?"

He nodded. "Eventually."

When she was finally gone, Methos locked the bookshop door and stripped off the tuxedo. He set his sword down on the chair, resisting the urge to smash something with it.

Kristen. After all these years...

From the inner pocket of the tux, he withdrew the brochure he'd been given at the show. Near the back of the brochure, there was an advertisement for Kristen's modelling agency. It listed a number of new offices scheduled to open over the coming months.

First on the list was Seacouver. It was perfect.

Five hundred years before Kristen escaped before Methos found her. She wouldn't escape again. He knew exactly where she would be a week from now.

There was just one problem: Adam Pierson couldn't be seen to hunt an immortal. Luckily for Methos, the solution was also in Seacouver.

***

**One week later, Seacouver**

With a cold bottle of his favourite beer in his hand, sitting on Joe Dawson's comfortable couch, Methos could almost forget the reason he had come here. Almost.

Joe lowered himself into an easy chair opposite Methos. "Seacouver isn't exactly a vacation spot. Why are you here, Adam?"

Methos was expecting the question. The last time he'd called Joe it had been because of Christine's threats to expose the Watchers in the international press. It wasn't surprising that Joe assumed there was a problem now.

"I can't just drop by to visit an old friend?" Methos asked mock-innocently.

Joe's answering smile was very dry. "Does it bother you that I don't automatically believe every word you say? 'Cause a little thing like lying about your age can do that." His eyes held laughter, taking the edge off the exaggerated sarcasm.

Methos surrendered. He had planned to tell Joe the truth anyway. "Alright, I do have a reason for coming here. I have, um, business in town. And I need to ask a favour."

Joe's expression froze. "Immortal business?"

Methos nodded. "The usual kind."

"Do you remember the 'don't interfere' rule? I'm not going to help you find someone to take their head off, Adam."

"That's not it, Joe. I don't need any help finding anyone. And I certainly don't need help to put the bitch in the ground. I won't ask you to break your oath."

"Then what?"

"It's the 'observe and record' part that's the problem. Kristen's Watcher knows me - as Adam Pierson. If Gill sees me take a head..."

"...Then the Watchers find out you're Methos," Joe concluded.

"They find out I'm _immortal_," Methos corrected him. "No one but you and MacLeod needs to know more than that."

Joe nodded silently, taking in the distinction. "Why not leave her head on her shoulders where it belongs, if you're so worried?"

Methos remembered Eleni hugging him and his groceries in the street, remembered her laughing against his skin as they made love. He remembered a body, mud clinging to the fine clothing, pulled from the River Tiber just after dawn. He remembered stripping the body of a young man he loved, washing blood and dirt away and preparing for the boy's father to see what was left of his beloved son. Methos raised cold eyes to Joe's. "Kristen's head belongs as far away from her shoulders as possible. Come on, Joe. You know what she is."

"Kristen?" Joe repeated. "She's in Seacouver?"

"No, I'm here because she's in New York. Of course she's here! Are you going to help me, or not?"

Joe sighed. "Adam..."

Methos looked up at Joe through lowered lashes, deliberately flirting.

Joe gave in. "I can call her Watcher in, but I can only do that once. You'll have to finish your 'business' in one night."

"I only need one night."

***

The Kristen Agency was not hard to find. Methos headed out there around five, planning to follow her home, but she wasn't there. He smiled sweetly at the receptionist and learned from her that Kristen had left with a young man. A hinted promise earned him the name of the restaurant where they would be.

Another day he might have followed through on that promise, but Methos had no stomach for flirtation on this day. Having got what he wanted, he left the agency quickly.

He found the restaurant, but here he needed to be more careful. No sense in alerting her to his presence. The faintest whisper of an immortal presence was enough; he waited in his car, watching her through the plate glass window of the restaurant. Watching her smile and laugh with her companion...

***

**Barcelona, 1493**

"Be sensible, Juan," Methos snapped. "If you must find your pleasures outside your wife's bedchamber..."

"I must." The young duke's eyes flashed with anger. He threw himself down, the cloak billowing around him. The gesture was consciously dramatic. He raised his eyes to Methos, a wicked smile transforming his features. "You should come with us tonight, Padre. It'll give you something interesting to confess."

Methos shook his head. Giovanni had no respect for his priest's robes, but Methos was used to that. "I think not," he said firmly. Roaming the streets in search of a brawl or a whore was a pastime for the young and reckless. It was pointless trying to talk to Giovanni when he was in this mood. He threw up his hands in exasperation and turned to leave the chamber.

"It would do you good," Giovanni called after him. "Come, Padre, wouldn't you like someone to warm your sheets?"

Methos smiled. "Perhaps, my lord, but I have no taste for whores."

"Then what _is_ to your taste?" Giovanni leapt up, dancing to the door where Methos stood. "I'm sure we can accommodate you. A pretty nun, perhaps? Or does your taste run to boys?"

"You go too far, my lord." Methos returned the look calmly, accustomed to Giovanni's ways. "If I have someone in my bed, I would prefer one I love." It wasn't the best way to close the conversation but pretending to a vow of celibacy wouldn't work with Giovanni.

Giovanni's grin faded suddenly and his eyes showed interest instead of humour. "Really?" he said, the one word laden with meaning.

The atmosphere in the room changed. Methos backed away. "I didn't mean..."

Giovanni's hand on his arm stopped him. "Didn't you?" He leaned closer as if to kiss Methos.

Methos pulled away from him firmly. "I think you've had too much wine, my lord." It _was_ a tempting offer, but he had little enough control over Giovanni as it was. He would not let their friendship change in this way; not in this century, at least. Giovanni didn't know it, yet, but they had time...

"What are you so afraid of?" Giovanni asked, his voice low.

Unable to tell the truth, Methos took refuge in the obvious answer. "Your father," he said hoarsely, "will have me killed."

"My father," Giovanni insisted, "will never know." He laughed suddenly. "You're like a scared virgin, Padre. I rather like the idea of being _your_ tutor for a change."

***

Thinking of Giovanni wasn't going to help Methos tonight. It had been a long time since he'd taken a head.

To do this, he had to be cold. It was surprisingly easy. Or perhaps not so surprising: some things, some memories, never leave.

The approach of an immortal alerted him again. He was ready for it. As Kristen and her companion emerged from the restaurant Methos got his first good look at them. He realised later he shouldn't have been so surprised. He had half-expected Kristen's young man to be an immortal; Kristen always went for the young ones. If the kid wanted to play her white knight, Methos was prepared for that, too.

He hadn't been prepared for the youngster to be someone he knew.

They both felt his presence. Kristen urged her companion toward her car, as Methos had known she would, avoiding the possible confrontation. The young man looked around, his eyes seeking the source of the presence he felt. As he moved, the beam of the streetlight illuminated his features, giving Methos his first clear look.

MacLeod's young student. Richie Ryan.

***

It was near 2am when Methos let himself into Joe's house. He was surprised to find the lights still on, and Joe waiting in the living room, reading. Methos removed his coat, removing the sword from its duster.

"Not quite a wasted evening," he muttered.

Joe looked up, setting his book aside. "Did you...?"

Methos shook his head. "No, I didn't get the chance."

"Oh. I can't distract Gillian again."

"I know." Methos sat down near Joe. "It's alright. I'll find another way." A bottle of whiskey stood on the table. Methos gestured toward it. "May I?" He was tense, wound tight as a wire. Prepared to kill, and unable to do anything... a drink would help, a little. He poured himself a generous measure.

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Do you really want to hear this now? It's two in the morning."

"Yeah, I want to hear it before you've had time to figure out a lie."

"Kristen wasn't alone. That wouldn't have stopped me, but the man she was with is...well, a friend of a friend. So...change of plan." Methos drank, barely tasting the whiskey.

In a very different tone, Joe asked, "Adam...what's this really all about?"

"I've already explained..."

"No, you didn't! You said you wanted her dead. Coming from someone who claims he hasn't taken a head in two hundred years...that's not answering the question."

"I guess I'm not going to sleep well anyway." Methos made himself comfortable, leaning back into the soft couch. "The short version of the story is Kristen killed someone I cared about."

Joe nodded. "Eleni Porter."

Methos looked up at his friend. "Been busy, haven't you? Actually, Joe, this has nothing to do with Eleni. All she did is remind me...of someone else."

***

_He pulled back the blanket covering the body. Beneath the grime of the river, the dead man's features were unmistakable. His skin was white and cold, his hair still wet. The river had washed away the blood, but the wounds were clearly visible: several stab wounds showed through the torn doublet and below the white face the wound in his throat told Methos everything he needed to know: his friend's head was almost severed from his body. Bone gleamed whitely in the dawn light. _

_Methos clenched his fist tightly, fingernails cutting into his palm. He spoke quickly to the others, giving orders that the body be cleaned before his father saw him. For this immortal, his first death was his last. _

_Only one person could have done this..._

***

"Gillian told me..."

"I know what she told you. I did care about Eleni, Joe. But she was immortal; she knew the Game. She fought and lost, Joe, it happens."

"Then why are you hunting Kristen now?"

"Because I didn't get the chance back then."

"When, exactly?"

"Always the Watcher? It was 1497, Joe. I suppose you want the whole story?"

"Only if you're ready to tell me."

Methos found himself smiling. This was why he was fond of Joe; he instinctively knew when to stop pushing. Even now, when Methos could see he was dying to hear the story. Methos nodded to himself. He couldn't really justify teasing his friend with details and denying him the rest. Joe was the one person on earth he knew he could trust to keep the truth to himself.

"It's not exactly a bedtime story, Joe. I went back to Rome in...1475, I think. Could have been '74. It was the first time I'd lived there since the days of the empire. I went to Rome as a priest..."

"You - a priest?" Joe's tone was sceptical.

"Why not? It's a steady job and you spend most of your time on holy ground. I can fake the rest. I was a priest. I didn't say I was a good one. I entered the service of one of the cardinals, and in 1480 he asked me to tutor his children. That was how I met Giovanni. He was one of those children...and he was an immortal."

"Wait a moment," Joe interrupted again. "Cardinal..."

"Joe, I'm talking about five hundred years ago. Priests weren't celibate, they just had to appear to be."

"I know. That isn't what I was going to say." Joe leaned forward, refilling Methos' whiskey glass and then his own. "In all our Chronicles, in all the time we've studied you guys, we have never been able to put together a family tree for an immortal. Not one we can be certain of. Now you're telling me..."

"What do you think, Joe? That immortals just appear out of nowhere? Gifts from the fairy folk, maybe?"

"Well, no, but..."

"It's true, most immortals are orphans or foundlings. It's a coincidence I can't explain. But that's most, not all. I don't know for sure that Giovanni was the cardinal's son, but if Madonna Vannozza wasn't his mother she pulled off a con worthy of Barnum. It's possible, I suppose. I wasn't there at the time. Giovanni was six when I became his tutor, and I spent the next seventeen years trying to keep him alive. I taught all the children, but Giovanni was...special to me. He was my kind, even if he didn't know it.

"He was sent to Spain to finish his education, and during that time we became good friends. He was still a kid, but, well, in those days no one could stay a child for long. When he was recalled to Rome, Giovanni asked me to join his brother's staff. He was a bishop then; Giovanni wanted me to spy."

"On his own brother?"

"There was no love between those two. He knew that as soon as he returned to Rome Cesare would begin plotting against him. The last thing I wanted to do was get involved, but I wanted to keep Giovanni alive. At least long enough to give him a real chance in the Game. So I agreed to do as he asked."

"What does this have to do with Kristen?"

"Everything. Kristen worked for Cesare. We never met, exactly: I avoided her because she was immortal. My oversight. I took her for just another whore. Cesare had no other use for women. If I knew then how dangerous she was..."

***

**Rome, 1497**

It was carnival week in Rome.

For one week anarchy ruled the night streets of the Holy City. A man could do anything, tonight, _be_ anyone. Revellers wore masks and the wise carried weapons. The wealthy kept bodyguards close, or remained in their homes.

Methos wore a wolf mask and borrowed finery. A sword was buckled at his side and he wore knives concealed beneath his clothing at his back, wrist and ankle. He rode at the rear of Giovanni's companions, galloping through the streets to the Coliseum. The ancient building, full of memories for Methos, was no longer the grand theatre of the empire, but at night it was still an imposing sight. They rode through the open gates into the arena, laughing. Giovanni threw a wineskin to Methos. He caught it and drank. It promised to be a wild night.

They circled their horses around. Giovanni released his reins, lifting his arms above his head in salute. "To all the great men who died on this ground!"

"And women," Methos added dryly.

"Don't you wish you could have seen it? A greater spectacle than a mass, surely?"

Methos brought his horse alongside his friend's. "Your sister's wedding wasn't spectacle enough?"

Giovanni pulled a face under his bull mask. "A spectacle, but no match for this place."

"I had in mind the evening entertainment," Methos retorted. That night was notorious. Wedding evenings were traditionally bawdy affairs, especially among the wealthy of Rome. That night, rumour said, had been more licentious than most. Knowing the family, Methos guessed rumour understated the case.

He passed the wineskin back to Giovanni and wheeled his horse around as he felt an immortal's approach. He searched the darkness, but in this place it was impossible to pick out one person. The Coliseum was a hive of prostitutes, pimps and thieves on any night; on a carnival night there was a crowd here. Then he saw four people on horseback riding through the gate. He recognised the lead rider instantly and checked his mask.

"Trouble, my lord," he warned. Three of the four riders were unmasked and he wondered why. The fourth was a woman.

Giovanni's eyes narrowed. "Cesare. And the night was going so well." He dismounted as the riders reached them.

It wasn't the wisest move Giovanni could have made. The rest of his companions followed him, dismounting. Methos stayed where he was, still searching for the immortal he could feel.

Cesare leapt down from his horse and walked around to help his female companion dismount. Methos met her eyes. An immortal woman in Cesare's company? He treated her as if she were a great lady, but there was mockery in every gesture. She was a courtesan, then. Methos dismounted, moving to Giovanni's side.

Cesare introduced his companion as Kristen. The absence of any title for his woman confirmed Methos' suspicion. It explained, in a way, the absence of masks: Cesare wanted to be seen riding out with a whore. Just one more way to prove to his father that he did not belong in the Church.

Methos studied the woman as unobtrusively as he could. Her mask was a bird, real dyed feathers surrounding her eyes. Her hair was chestnut in the torchlight, thick waves across her shoulders and down her back. Gold sparkled at her ears and throat. She smiled a practiced smile as Giovanni rose from his courtly bow.

"Your brother is a fine man, my lord," she remarked to Cesare.

"Indeed," Cesare said darkly.

Kristen's eyes turned to Methos. "And his companion...?" She offered her hand.

Methos played the part, taking her hand with the lightest possible touch and bowing slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I am honoured, my lady," he said.

Giovanni snorted with laughter. Methos couldn't help smiling. They both knew what she was.

"And who are you, sir?" Kristen asked Methos. She reached up to his mask. Her eyes were cold, not curious.

Methos could not afford to be unmasked with Cesare present. He grasped Kristen's wrist, wrenching her hand away from his mask. He felt the delicate bones of her wrist grind under his fingers. She tried to pull away and he pressed harder. Bone cracked beneath his grip. Kristen gasped in pain. Without releasing the pressure, Methos twisted her arm, forcing her close to him. With his free hand he tore her mask away.

Giovanni caught the mask as he tossed it aside. Methos glanced at him. Giovanni shook his head slightly: no. Methos released the woman. She cradled her broken wrist, looking at him angrily.

"No permanent harm done," Methos said casually.

Giovanni moved between them. "You show a poor sense of chivalry, my friend," Giovanni admonished, his words slurred. He offered Kristen his hand. "A beautiful woman on carnival night deserves more...gentle attention." He touched her cheek gently.

Methos leaned close to them both. "I was born long before the age of chivalry," he said, the words for her alone. Giovanni, too inebriated to take him seriously, just laughed. Methos was confident he would forget the conversation before dawn. He was equally confident Kristen would remember it.

The odd thing was Cesare standing silent, watching the scene develop. Giovanni was being deliberately provocative, flirting with Cesare's woman. Since they were children, Cesare never stood for his brother taking anything he perceived as his. By now someone should be drawing a sword. Methos glanced at Cesare, wondering what was behind this new behaviour.

"Giovanni," Methos prompted, speaking quietly, "your father is expecting us." He mounted up without waiting for a reply.

"Not for an hour yet." Giovanni insisted.

"And if you dally with my lord Cardinal's whore, we will be late." Methos knew he was pushing his luck as well as his authority. Giovanni outranked him by a long way. But the words had the desired effect.

Cesare laughed.

Kristen cried out angrily, throwing something at Methos. He avoided it easily.

"Say that to my face, bastard!" she screamed at him.

Methos waited for Giovanni to mount his horse. Then he turned to Kristen. "I believe I just did," he said, his voice pitched to carry. He rode after the others.

***

Methos stopped talking long enough to refill his glass.

"Cesare," Joe repeated thoughtfully. "What year did you say this was?"

Methos couldn't help laughing. "Ah, the penny drops! 1497."

Joe gave him a wait-till-I-get-you-home look. "1497. You're talking about Cesare_ Borgia_?"

This was one of the things Methos loved about Joe. He smiled. "Yes."

"Then his brother..." Joe was frowning; Methos waited while Joe worked it out. "Hell, it's not my period of history. I don't remember a Giovanni Borgia."

"The history books usually call him Juan. The Borgias were a Spanish family, and Juan was his Spanish name; his friends used the Italian Giovanni. The second Duke of Gandia. He died in 1497."

"But you said he was immortal. Or are you talking about his first death? Juan Borgia wasn't decapitated."

"Joe, if you want to hear the story, let me tell it in order."

"Sorry. You just threw me a bit. I didn't think you were the type to share the stage with kings and princes. Let alone the most famous Roman family since Ceasar."

"It wasn't something I planned. I stayed with the family so I could keep an eye on Giovanni. I knew what he was, and he could have died at any time. It was a dangerous world."

***

_Battle raged on the streets of Rome. Past and present merged in Methos' mind as the clash of steel and the sound of screaming reached his ears from the streets below. But this was no great army at the gates of Rome. It was the people of Rome who rose up, Pope Innocent III's war against Naples had given the two most powerful families of the city an excuse to fight each other and the streets were their battleground._

_Methos found the children on the loggia overlooking the street. The boys knelt on either side of their sister, peering between the pillars. A woman's scream rose from below and Methos saw Cesare grasp his four-year-old sister's shoulder, making her look. Methos strode forward, lifting Lucrezia into his arms, blocking her view with his body._

_"Inside, both of you!" he commanded. With his free hand he reached down to pull Giovanni away from the pillar and he caught a glimpse of the scene on the street. Six Orsini soldiers gang-raping a woman. He pushed the boys into the house, closing the loggia door behind him. "I am ashamed of you both. That is no sight for your sister."_

_Cesare faced him defiantly. "You told us always to face the truth."_

_Methos set the girl down. "But not to revel in ugliness, my lord. You will find no truth in the streets today."_

***

Methos shook off the memory. "It was a few weeks after the carnival I discovered Giovanni had more than a passing interest in Kristen..."

***

**Rome, 1497**

Methos waited inside the chapel. When Giovanni came in, he led him into the sacristy where they could speak privately. The first thing Giovanni asked about was Sanchia. Had she been the second thing, Methos might have handled it better.

"I thought you wanted me to spy on Cesare, not Joffré's wife."

"You have no sense of adventure," Giovanni returned gaily.

"And you have no _sense_. You need to stop thinking with your cock, Giovanni. Cesare beds Sanchia only because you got there first. Now what? You want her back? Cesare is not a man to cross."

Methos knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

Giovanni's gay mood vanished. "What do you care, Padre? I will do as I please. _You_ forget your place." He turned to leave.

Methos followed him. "My lord!"

Giovanni looked back, his expression cold and arrogant. In this mood, he was too like his brother for comfort.

"I am your man, my lord," Methos assured him. "You know that. I am trying to keep you alive!"

"I'll stay alive," the duke replied sullenly.

Methos followed him through the chapel. He always tried to hard with Giovanni. It was a bad habit he needed to break. As they reached the exit, he had to fight not to react when he felt an immortal near. He remained in the chapel doorway, and watched Giovanni leave. His horse was right outside, and so was someone else. An immortal on horseback, wearing a mask. Methos studied the figure, but couldn't be sure if it was a woman or a young man. He almost left the sanctuary of holy ground to get a closer look. It was too much of a coincidence, he decided. It had to be Cesare's courtesan.

If only he could be sure.

***

A few days later Methos was at Vannozza Catanei's vineyard at Esquiline. She was holding a small family dinner for her sons. Methos was not a dinner guest, but she had asked him to come this evening and speak with her. She spoke with him occasionally, asking after her children, as Methos saw more of them than she did now they were grown.

The family were in the garden, drinking wine. Methos watched the group from an unobtrusive distance; Vannozza would come to him when she was ready. He watched Cesare and Giovanni vie for their mother's attention but it was a friendly rivalry. He saw no sign of the enmity that had been between them too often of late. Cesare's laugher reached him and Methos suppressed a shudder. When Cesare was in a good mood it usually meant someone was about to bleed or die.

Methos felt the approach of Giovanni's masked companion with some dread. He still didn't know who it was, not for sure. He had warned Giovanni already; what more could he do? This unknown immortal might not even recognise latent immortality in Giovanni, and Giovanni wasn't in the Game yet. He should be in no special danger...

Giovanni saw the masked figure at the edge of the garden. Making his excuses to Vannozza he strode toward her. Methos hurried to intercept Giovanni: one last attempt to talk some sense into him.

Giovanni stopped him before he could speak. "It's the last time, Padre, I promise. I'm tired of her anyway."

"Then don't go tonight."

"What's it to you?"

"Rumour has it," Methos said, "you and your paramour have been seen in the Jewish quarter after midnight."

Giovanni frowned. "As I have said, I go where I please."

"Have a care, my lord, I beg you."

The duke gave a lecherous grin. "Oh, I will. You can join us if you'd like."

It wasn't the first time Giovanni had made such a suggestion. In Spain Methos might have accepted. In Rome he tried to keep up appearances; after all, he was supposed to be a priest. And going on one of Giovanni's adventures with an immortal he didn't know seemed a very bad idea. So Methos simply shook his head. "Thank you, my lord, but I prefer to take my pleasures in private."

Giovanni laughed and left with his immortal companion.

***

"That was the last time anyone saw Giovanni alive." Methos waited for Joe to question that statement, but Joe was silent, waiting. "When he went missing," Methos continued, "I was afraid he'd met with some accident but I wasn't concerned. He was immortal. But days went by and he didn't come home. His father was frantic. He sent a hundred men to search the city, and I joined them. I knew...not where to look, but at least where _not_ to look."

Joe nodded. "If an immortal dies and doesn't wake up, there are only so many possibilities."

"Exactly. By then I was sure he must have died. I thought if I found him I would be able to conceal his first death; perhaps he could resume his normal life. But it didn't work out that way."

Methos refilled his glass with scotch and took a long drink. "Eventually, I found a man who saw a body dumped into the Tiber the night Giovanni disappeared. He claimed a lone man on horseback threw the body in and threw stones on the floating cloak until the body sank. That gave me hope. If it was Giovanni, and someone weighted down his body, he would revive if we could find him and bring him into the air. I had no idea how I would manage to keep his resurrection secret, but at the time I was more concerned with finding him. So I took the witness to Giovanni's father and he ordered us to drag the river."

***

**Rome, 1497**

Methos waited on the riverbank. He was very tense now. The search had continued through the night; no one had dared to rest. The watching crowd knew by now that they were searching for the Duke of Gandia's body. There were too many people here, spectators looking for a thrill, servants of the Pope, soldiers...if they found Giovanni, there was no hope of concealing his death. It meant Methos had a much harder task: to conceal that he lived. He would have to cover up a vanishing corpse, and given who Giovanni was, Duke of Gandia, son of the Pope, brother of a cardinal, Methos had no idea how he would do it. Worse, he would have to persuade Giovanni to leave Rome, to leave his family and his life.

He heard the boatman shout and watched them pull something out of the water. A human body, covered in the mud and filth of the river. Methos waited impatiently at the water's edge.

They dumped the body unceremoniously at Methos' feet. It gave him an excuse to yell at them for their disrespect and they backed off, giving Methos the space he so badly needed. The heavy, waterlogged cloak covered the upper body and head of the corpse. Carefully, Methos peeled the cloth away from the face.

Grief pierced him, stinging his eyes and stopping his breath when he saw his young friend's injuries. Giovanni's head was almost severed from his body, barely two fingers' width of flesh left intact. More than enough to kill him, forever. Bone gleamed whitely through the mud and blood at his neck. Immortal or not, Giovanni was dead.

It was several minutes before Methos remembered he was supposed to be a priest. He said the appropriate words and made all the right gestures. It was all meaningless. Was it possible this decapitation was coincidence? Did Giovanni's murderer somehow just stumble on the one thing that would kill him?

Methos covered Giovanni's face. He stood. "We must clean and dress the Duke's body immediately. His holiness must not see his son like this." Several men came forward and together they carried the body to a nearby church. There, under cover of cleaning his friend's body, Methos was able to examine him more closely.

He found thirty gold ducats in Giovanni's purse. It decisively eliminated robbery as a motive. He found bloody cuts in Giovanni's tunic, but no sign of corresponding wounds on his body. And then the answer hit him.

Only one person could be responsible for this.

***

"She murdered him, Joe. She stabbed him to death. Then she waited for him to revive, immortal, and took his head."

"You're sure of that?"

"Absolutely."

"So, why wait 'till now? Why didn't you kill her back then?"

"I _wanted_ to! For a few days after Giovanni's body was found I couldn't get away. As soon as I was free I hunted for her. But it was too late. She fled Rome." He took a deep breath. "I let it go, then, because I had no other choice. But I can't do that again. This time she can't hide from me and I won't stop."

"Even if it blows your cover as Adam Pierson?"

Methos hesitated, but there was no doubt in his mind. "Even if." He put his empty glass down and looked at Joe. "Eleni was a lovely girl, Joe. I watched Kristen kill her...and it all came back. How many others like Giovanni has she killed? I don't know. Even the Watchers can't know: you can't identify latent immortals."

Joe's eyes widened as the implication of Methos' words sank in. He nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, we can't, but we'd notice a quickening. Kristen's a killer, I know that much. I'd have to go through the chronicles if you want a list."

"You've never watched Kristen. How do you know her so well?" It was an idle question; Methos wasn't really interested.

"Adam, she and MacLeod were involved a few centuries back. Mid-seventeenth century, in Normandy. He's one of the few who walked away from her."

Suddenly Methos was paying attention. "MacLeod?" _I thought he had better taste in women..._ "Joe, what happened between them?"

And Joe told him.

***

Joe moved quietly through the living room. Adam was still sleeping, curled up on the couch. He watched him sleep for a moment.

Joe felt completely out of his depth. When Adam called Joe to say he was on his way to Seacouver, Joe made a couple of calls to his Watcher contacts in Paris. He discovered that Adam Pierson had some sort of relationship with an immortal, Eleni Porter, and that she'd just lost a challenge. Joe hadn't inquired further, feeling that this explained Adam's need to get away.

He had known Adam for more than ten years, and he was still getting to know him. If Joe lost a friend (perhaps a lover? Gillian's report implied it), he would want to be among friends. Knowing Adam didn't have many close friends in Paris since Don's death, Joe kept expecting Adam to react as...well, as the man he pretended to be. As mortal. It was so easy to forget that "Adam Pierson" was a mere mask, and the man underneath it was the oldest immortal alive.

But last night, Joe saw the man behind the mask.

He gathered up their used glasses and the nearly-empty scotch bottle. He'd drunk maybe two glasses himself; the rest had been Adam. Did immortals get hung over? Joe guessed he would find out when Adam woke up. He put the bottle away and carried the glasses into his kitchen.

Instead of a grief in need of comfort, Adam had shown Joe anger and hate. Joe didn't know how to handle that.

He knew the depth and intensity of Adam's passion. The memory of their short affair was one he treasured, but he saw it differently now he knew what Adam really was.

If Adam's hate ran as deep as his passion, it was something to fear.

Watching Adam sleep that morning, Joe wondered how much of the story Adam had left out. He must have truly loved that boy...

***

An hour later, Methos stood outside a door. He could feel an immortal presence within and for a moment he reconsidered his plan. Then the door opened and Methos was out of time.

"Candygram!" he said brightly.


End file.
